unstitch
by scribblingnellie
Summary: And with one piece of paper, Greg Lestrade's divorce was official. Over a late night whisky, he's contemplating what went wrong. And allowing himself a light in the darkness. Part of my series of stories based on daily creative prompts for May. Many thanks for reading.


**Another introspective piece for Greg for the prompt 'unstitch' - a contemplation on his marriage. A metaphorical unstitching.**

**Update 16 May - Thank you for the reviews; always appreciate your thoughts! Having written the story over two nights, with editing, it's still a little raw. I'll probably look at it again in a few days and see things I want to change! ****After this foray into Greg's mind at that moment when he opened the divorce papers, I will write him a happy story, promise. One where he decides that, damn it, he deserves to be happy!**

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So it was official. A large whisky in one hand and the decree absolute in the other. Slumped on his sofa, he took another swig. It was over.

Why? He knew how, but not why. Fifteen years of marriage and they'd rubbed along together just fine. They argued over missed dinners and overtime and cancelled leave but always made it up. Their promotions - from DC to DS to DI and a move to Scotland Yard; from head of department to deputy head to headteacher - brought longer days and more work but they made time together around it.

Something changed. She'd gone from being upset but understanding when he couldn't make it, to being angry and annoyed. And he hadn't expected it, he hadn't seen it coming. Those last twelve months - bit by bit, his marriage had come undone. One thing then another.

Her sister's birthday weekend. A raid had gone badly wrong and he'd had to stay on and get it sorted. She was angry when he called to say to go without him. A day of tense silence and door slamming followed. That was new.

Greg made it up to her - dinner and a night away at a posh hotel. And the sex was incredible.

Dinner with her best friend and husband. An hour before he intended to leave, he was landed with a fatal bank robbery. He phoned her to say he'd be there all night with interviews and bodies; she told him how humiliating it would be to go on her own. Then a few days of cold silence and sleeping in the spare bedroom after that.

Paris. They wined, dined and made love for two days. It was how their marriage used to feel - happy.

The school inspection. She called to say she had to stay late to get stuff sorted. And he heard another voice in the background, male, telling her he wanted her naked on the desk now. What was going on? Just her deputy head having a joke; Greg believed her.

Italy. A week of sunshine, good food, long evenings on the terrace with a fine wine. They made love once, the first night there.

The serial suicides, Lauriston Gardens, the pink lady. Sherlock deduced her affairs from her wedding ring. Something lodged in Greg's mind. But he couldn't bring himself to snoop on his wife, it felt wrong.

Their friends' anniversary party. She spent the evening chatting and drinking, though mostly not with him. At 1am he found her, in the arms of her colleague, his lips crushed against hers.

_It was nothing. _

_Nothing? It was him in your office, wasn't it. Are you two having an affair? _

_So what if we are? At least he's around, because my husband rarely is!_

Greg slammed the door. She spent the night in the spare bedroom. And the next week at her best friend's.

It hurt; a confused, messed up kind of hurt. When had his job become a problem? Or was it him? Was she bored with him? She stayed at her best friend's for a month, texting him, calling him. He didn't reply.

Then Christmas. That had been horrible.

She left a message the week before. The affair was over, had been for a while. She missed him, she was sorry. Greg missed her. They'd been happy together for so long; whatever was wrong between them, maybe they could sort it out.

They talked. They both made an effort to leave work on time more often. They spent what evenings they could together.

Christmas drinks at 221B. Was she being too keen for him to go? Was he being paranoid? He ignored the little nagging thoughts at the back of his mind. He wanted their marriage to work, he wanted to give it a chance. And then Sherlock. Greg had no idea how he knew. Maybe he was just doing it to wind him up after what happened with Molly. But another man? A PE teacher? The other guy had been a Geography teacher. Had she done it again?

Christmas Day. Greg overheard her and her sister - _Are you seeing him again? Does Greg suspect? _She tried to deny it. Before he left for London that afternoon, he told her she wasn't welcome back after Christmas. Better if she stayed at her best friend's.

Sherlock sent him photos and a couple of emails - _Mycroft has his uses._ Thought he might want proof for the divorce petition. Oddly, he was touched. The consulting detective's way of looking out for him. Greg missed him, a lot.

That had been it. A second affair - one final rip and the seams of his marriage came apart. Nearly 20 years and it was over. Maybe he wouldn't know why.

One last swig of whisky, Greg put the piece of paper on the coffee table. Running his hands over his eyes, he took several deep, slow breaths. He paused. Should he call her? She had said he could, anytime he needed to. She'd been really nice to him lately, listening, bringing him coffee.

He picked his mobile, hesitating over her number. He liked talking to her, it helped. She was good for him. The number rang.

'Hey you.' Her gentle voice on the other end. 'You ok?'

'Hey Molly.'

He smiled. Even just the sound of her voice and he knew it would be ok.

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**Many thanks for reading!**


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